


Be the Light

by resonae



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, Previous slavery, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2013-12-11
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:09:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/resonae/pseuds/resonae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint shivered and quickly pulled a loose hoodie on, covering his back. He would never go through that again. Being hunted for a freak, being caught and kept chained in some cage like he was a piece of property because he had wings. </p><p>He trusted his teammates, he really did. Just. The less people knew, the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be the Light

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt:
> 
> AU in which Clint has wings but hides them because he used to be hunted as a freak. Pairing of your choice finding out about them. Bonus points for Clint being scared and defensive, the other person being shocked and amazed and wing stroking fluff.

Clint stared at himself in the mirror, and cautiously, cautiously let his wings open. No one knew about his wings. Well, Phil and Fury knew about his wings. But no one else. Not Hill, not even Natasha. It was not that he didn’t trust them. He did.

 

Just… Sometimes he still had nightmares from the men shouting at him, screaming curses and obscenities as they tore away his feathers, one by one, tearing skin and breaking bones of the wings until he couldn’t fly anymore. His wings were horribly deformed from the abuse they’d got, twisted and bent where it’d healed to the best of its abilities but couldn’t quite make it. He couldn’t fly anymore – not that he did much, even when he could, collared and chained to the ground.

 

He shivered and quickly pulled a loose hoodie on, covering his back. He would never go through that again. Being hunted for a freak, being caught and kept chained in some cage like he was a piece of property.

 

He trusted his teammates, he really did.

 

Just. The less people knew, the better.

 

\--

 

He never let anyone pat his back. His wings were tightly bound to his back when he went out, but it was still too dangerous. Phil had told him that no one would be able to tell, but Clint was paranoid. He accepted a clap on the shoulder easily, but when anyone tried to pat his back, he smoothly slid away.

 

He had a bad time after the battle in New York. He’d had glass shards torn into his back, but he couldn’t let any doctors work on him. It’d taken endless coaxing from Fury that Clint went into surgery, fully alert and with Fury overseeing the procedure so that the doctors couldn’t see above the covered area where his wings were. Each of the SHIELD doctors were sworn to secrecy under the threat of death, but still. Clint shivered.

 

“You cold?” He jolted up to see Tony raising an eyebrow at him. “Whoa there, birdie. I just wanted to if you were cold. You’ve got that big sweater on but you’re hugging your arms and shivering. JARVIS can bump the heat up a bit, if you want.”

 

“No, uh. I’m fine. Really.” Clint got up, suddenly too aware of his wings pressed up against him. Maybe he should’ve wrapped his wings. But he felt _safe_ in the tower, enough that he didn’t feel the need to. He jerked up and ran back up onto his floor, hands trembling. He’d just stay here today. He fell back onto his bed and closed his eyes, squeezing his fists into balls. Maybe, just maybe, he should move back to the Helicarrier.

 

\--

 

On his files, it read that Clint was never to have medical treatment on his back unless Director Fury or Agent Coulson was present. It listed trauma as the reason, and Clint supposed that wasn’t exactly a lie. Usually agents with PTSD didn’t quality, but Clint didn’t exactly have PTSD and he was too valuable, anyway.

 

But that precaution failed when he got hurt on an Avengers’ mission, fell unconscious, and it was Bruce who patched him up.

 

He woke up flailing on his bed, shirtless. His torso was tightly bandaged, and he scrambled for a blanket. “Stop,” he was told, but that made him panic more. “Clint, _stop_. You’re just –“ When a hand touched him, he flung out, but he hit nothing, which made him panic more. “Clint, it’s just me. It’s Bruce. I didn’t let anyone else into the room.”

 

Clint curled up into a ball, his teeth chattering. He felt the heavy metal of the collar dragging him down, tugging him back to the floor every time he tried to fly away.

 

The voice said, “Clint.” It was soothing, kind in a way his owners never had been, and he looked up to find a familiar face.

 

Bruce. Right. Bruce.

 

 _Bruce_.

 

The thought of Bruce knowing about his wings made panic slam up again, but Bruce held his hands up. “Clint, it’s just me.” He held his hands out, and Clint flinched but didn’t lash out when Bruce touched his arm. Bruce smiled. “Okay, let me redo your bandages.”

 

Clint tensed when Bruce moved to his back. Bruce was careful in handling him, taking measures not to bother his wings too much when he redid the bandages. “Aren’t you going to ask me?” He said, and it came out harsher than he intended.

 

Bruce paused. “Not if you don’t want me to, Clint.” An awkward silence followed them, and Clint just hung his head. “I’m going to adjust the bandages on them.” He wanted to run away when Bruce cautiously touched his wings, but did nothing. Bruce’s hands worked quickly. “I didn’t tell anyone else. Not even Natasha, just in case.”

 

“Thanks.” Clint whispered, his head bowed low. “I – You must think I’m some sort of freak.”

 

Bruce laughed at that. “Clint, I turn into the _Hulk_. I don’t think I’ve the rights to call anyone a freak.” His eyes softened and he rubbed Clint’s arm. “Even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t think so. You’ve got _wings_. They’re beautiful.”

 

Clint sunk his head under his arms. “Now I know you’re lying. They’re all fucked up, I know. My old owners broke them when I tried to run away and never let them heal properly.” A thick silence followed, and Clint realized he’d said more than he wanted to. He was exhausted, jittery and he trusted Bruce not to have a filter. He looked up in panic to see Bruce’s eyes a dark green. “Bruce.”

 

“Your old _owners_?” Bruce repeated, sounding angry. He then noticed Clint’s panic and turned, taking deep breaths and letting out shuddered ones. “Give me a second, Clint.”

 

When Bruce turned back around, Clint sunk his head back into his arms. “Sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t mean to say.”

 

Bruce rubbed his shoulders. “Why are _you_ sorry for? Clint, let me get a look at them again, okay?” Clint shuddered but nodded. “You don’t have to let me, if you don’t want to. I understand.” Clint knew. _Bruce_ , out of all the people in the world, would understand. And maybe that was why Clint let him continue on. Bruce’s hands were gentle on his wings. “Can you fly on them?”

 

Clint didn’t lift his head. “Used to be able to. Not anymore.” He didn’t add why – Bruce could probably see. The bones had healed irregularly, and his constant strapping them down didn’t help either. Bruce doesn’t say anything, just tenderly touches the feathers that are sticking out in every direction.

 

“You can trust us, you know. You can trust _me_.” Clint just nodded, clutching his knees to his chest. Bruce just sighed and coaxed him back down. “I won’t tell anyone, Clint. Just get some rest.”

 

And Bruce didn’t tell anyone. Clint didn’t know why he ever expected that Bruce might, but no matter what Clint’s expectations were, Bruce acted the same as he always had. Clint was glad for it, even when he shied away from Bruce.

 

One day Clint spent locked up in his room, JARVIS announced that Bruce was asking permission to access the floor. Clint hesitated but acquiesced, fidgeting. Bruce was holding something in his hands. “Hey, don’t be offended.” Clint was immediately suspicious, but Bruce smiled warmly at him and he made his way over. “I noticed you’re tying your wings down to make them less noticeable, but that _has_ to be uncomfortable. I made something that should make things a little better. More elastic, less restricting. Breathes better, too, so you’re not suffocating under the wrap.”

 

Clint stared at the black band that Bruce offered him, and took it, unsure really what to expect. Bruce was looking expectantly at him, so he shrugged his sweater off. Bruce was staring, so he shifted, and Bruce smiled apologetically. “Sorry,” Bruce apologized. “Just. They’re gorgeous. You shouldn’t have to keep them hidden like that.”

 

Clint looked down. “No, I know they’re ugly.”

 

Bruce patted Clint’s shoulder, and Clint looked up. “No, I mean it. They’re gorgeous.” Bruce grinned. “I can help you with the feathers, if you want.” Clint blinked, and realized Bruce meant the unruly, uneven feathers. He’d never bothered to preen himself, so they grew out all over the place. He settled down on the bed, letting Bruce carefully stroke his fingers through the feathers. He flinched, and Bruce pulled his hand back. “Did I hurt you?”

 

“No, just… Not used to anyone touching them.” He shrugged and shifted. “All people did was break them. Pull out feathers to stuff their pillows.” From his angle, he can’t see Bruce’s expression, but Bruce’s breathing just slightly quickens before he takes deep breaths.

 

“If I ever get to meet them,” Bruce said, his voice trembling, “I don’t think I could stay calm.” He didn’t continue on the topic – just carefully tugged feathers into place and slid already fallen feathers tangled in new ones out from his wings. Clint watched the brown feathers fall onto the bed, misshapen and in all different sizes.

  
It felt weird. No one had been _gentle_ with his wings. Ever. Not even himself. He didn’t really know what to think about it, but Bruce’s hands running through his feathers felt good. He closed his eyes and scooted back a little, not even aware he was doing it. Bruce didn’t stop, just kept on brushing his fingers through the unruly feathers, making each and every one neat.

 

He woke up on his stomach with a jolt. When he jumped up, Bruce was still on his floor, hanging out near the small kitchenette that Tony put on each floor. “Hey,” Bruce grinned. “You fell asleep, and you looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake you up. But I didn’t want to leave, either, in case you panicked.”

 

Clint flushed a bright red. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to.”

 

“No, I’m glad you got some rest. You’ve been looking really high strung lately.” Bruce smiled. “Can you try stretching out your wings?” Clint hesitated, but Bruce had done so much for him that – why not. He shuffled over to join Bruce in front of the mirror and let them open to their full width.

 

He hadn’t done so since he was a kid, and unused joints popped and creaked and complained, but he spread them open and he took a sharp breath. His wings were _much_ bigger than he remembered them being, and with Bruce’s careful preening, they didn’t even look too messed up. Some of the feathers were still unruly – even Bruce’s skilled hands couldn’t help the feathers that had grown in different sizes, but with careful management they’d even out after a while. But with straight, neat feathers, his wings didn’t even look broken. In fact, someone just looking might not have been even able to tell.

 

He stepped closer, mesmerized. He wondered if he could fly, but decided against it – his wings were still misshapen. But _still_. He flapped them, once, twice, and awed at how _good_ it felt to let those bones and muscles work again. They creaked when he opened them, but he couldn’t help but grin. “Clint,” Bruce said, quietly. “You look amazing.”

 

Clint flushed a bright red. “I didn’t know they were that big. I haven’t opened them in – in forever.” Bruce nodded, and brushed his hand across the top of the wings. Clint flinched, but when Bruce pulled his hand away, smiled. “No, it’s okay. I just – need to get used to it.”

 

Bruce frowned. “It’s such a shame that you have to lock these away. You should be able to let them be free like this, at least in our own house.” He seemed angry, and then sad. “You can trust us, Clint, you know. All of us.”

 

He didn’t tell anyone even after that, but he did spend a great deal of time with Bruce. Bruce helped him tuck his wings in comfortably under the band, and then helped him brush the feathers back into place. Usually Bruce brought him something to munch on while he was working on the wings.

 

Clint gradually, slowly, opened up to Bruce. He told him the stories of when he was younger, chased as a freak, some kind of trophy for rich people. He’d told him stories of thick chains and collars that kept him tied to the ground, of the brutal beatings that bordered on torture when he got caught trying to run away. Bruce had to take breathers after every story, and Clint apologized and Bruce told him not to be sorry.

 

Then they’d spend the rest of the time in silence, Bruce quietly preening his feathers and Clint munching on his bagel or whatever Bruce had brought over for the day.

 

They spent a lot of time together. So much, in fact, that Tony started to complain about how Clint was taking away his ‘Bruce Time’. And Natasha kept giving Clint an amused look. “I’m – Would you rather be doing something with Tony?” Clint asked, one day, when Bruce was sorting through his still-righting feathers.

 

Bruce laughed – but it wasn’t offensive. Just kind, actually amused. “Clint, I wouldn’t be here unless I wanted to spend time with you.” He then poked right between Clint’s shoulder blades and joked, “These wings are pretty good incentive, too.”

 

Bruce treated his wings like they were normal – like he wasn’t some kind of freak of nature for having them. Clint had tried to explain to Bruce that Bruce was _normal_. He just had a superpower that he got from radiation. Same with Nat, or Tony, or Steve. All normal humans with chemical or biological adjustments. Thor didn’t count. He was a god. That was normal where he was from.

 

But Clint had been _born_ with these. They’d been the reason for most of his abuse from his father, and the reason why he’d been sold like an object. He’d grown up with the words _freak_ and _monster_. Bruce got a sad look when he tried to explain, and just said, _But your wings are so amazing_.

 

Bruce also spent a ton of time trying to convince Clint to tell the others. But it wasn’t that he was trying to convince him to do something he didn’t want – Bruce just told him, _you can trust us, you know_. And different variations of that.

 

“You really don’t think they’d think I’m a freak?” Clint asked, one day, when Bruce was done preening his feathers. The dropped feathers went into a satchel that Bruce brought up one day, reasoning his feathers were too beautiful to be just tossed away. But he didn’t want to _stuff pillows with them_ like Clint’s old owners had, so for now they were just being stored away.

 

Bruce smiled reassuringly. “Of course not. And I think you _do_ know that. You’re just scared. For good reason. I understand, Clint.”

 

\--

 

Clint told Bruce first, that way he could have someone to blame it on if things got bad (and also to run away to, if things got bad), and then left the band Bruce made for him in his room when they went down for dinner.

 

Bruce didn’t push, throughout the entire thing, and not once during their loud and expletive-filled Monopoly session afterward. Clint didn’t play – he just tucked himself into Bruce’s side and just rolled his eyes when Tony complained Clint and Bruce were getting too close and explained rules to Thor. At the end of the game when _Thor_ of all people ended up winning, Clint said, “I have an announcement.”

 

“Are you two getting married?” Tony guessed.

 

Bruce sighed. “Tony, please.”

 

Clint glared, then shuffled his feet under his legs and turned to Bruce. “Help?” He tried to tug his hoodie off but it got tangled in his wings, and Bruce carefully untangled them before Clint spread them.

 

He was met with a stunned silence. Natasha shot up after a while, strode around and scrutinized the wings as best as she could without touching them. “They’re real.” She said. Her gaze snapped to Bruce. “What did you do to him?”

 

It was a logical assumption, that Bruce had done it to him. Nat and him told each other everything. “I had it since I was born, Nat.” He told her, and she looked hurt. Offended. But not disgusted. “Sorry. Bruce just – found out by accident.”

 

Natasha glared, but then read the fear and uncertainty on his face. “I’ll get you for that later,” she said, tucking a red curl behind her ear and settling back at her seat with a humph. It was as petulant as Natasha ever got.

 

Clint was ambushed by huge, muscular arms. “They are marvelous!” Thor boomed. “Truly incredible! Can you fly on them?”

Clint couldn’t help it – he smiled when he saw Thor’s huge grin. “I – I can’t. They didn’t fix right when they got broken.”

 

“So you used to be able to fly on them,” Steve observed. Steve didn’t look disgusted either, just contemplative. “Thor’s right, Clint. They _are_ incredible.” He tilted his head. “How come you kept it from us?”

 

Clint flushed and hung his head. “I – I… I was scared. Things happened to me because of them, and I.. just got scared. Sorry, Cap. I trust you guys, I really do. I just.. I just got scared.” He felt meek. It was something he’d never felt before. Scared, frightened, yes. But never _meek_.

 

But Steve only smiled. “I know.” He gave Clint a tight hug. “I know, Clint. I understand.”

 

Tony then started to go on a ramble about how offended he was that Clint kept this from everyone else but told _Bruce_ , and then started muttering about plans to create a holographic projector to keep his wings out of sight when they were out. And then ways to adjust Clint’s battle gear to suit his wings.

 

Clint couldn’t help but smile and he leaned against Bruce. Bruce smiled, and whispered, “I told you.”

 


End file.
